


Go Back

by Substance



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Angst, F/F, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-17 03:03:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2294435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Substance/pseuds/Substance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Bhaalspawn crisis, the heroes struggle to lead peaceful lives. A night spent forgetting the present reveals an unspoken past.</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the rights to Baldur's Gate. The following is written purely for entertainment, not profit.
> 
> Rated 'M' for some frank moments.
> 
> This is set after the end of Throne of Bhaal. Spoilers etc.
> 
> The story concerns a romantic relationship between two women that *could* be incestuous depending on your reading of the lore. As you may already know, the main character and Imoen are offspring of the same divine entity but different mortal parents. Your mileage may vary.

Laurel could not stop shivering. She wrapped her blanket across her shoulders, lit candles to find succour in their soft light then blew them out to hide in the darkness. She read journals, histories and romance but nothing could hold her mind captive.

She walked outside to explore the wilderness but it was too small, too familiar. She wanted it to envelop and consume her. She tried to flit through the corridors of de'Arnise Keep like a ghost playing amongst ancient stones but she had grown too strong and heavy. Muscles weighed down her arms while discipline straightened her back. The tension was fit to tear her asunder but there was no such relief. Over the years, she had just grown thicker and tighter like the gnarled trunk of an old oak. She wanted to cast aside her clothes, the weight of her name, but her knotted flesh and tendons repulsed her. With her sun-coloured hair and grey eyes, she had been a paragon of sylvan beauty. Now she was often mistaken for a half-elf.

Laurel returned to her quarters. Even without her magic, she knew someone was waiting. Jaheira sat at the desk. The plate mail she once wore had tempered her candour with heroic glamour but her plain robe only hardened her bearing. Her exotic eyes watched without reserve. In her current role as Great Druid, she felt _everything_. The anxiety driving Laurel's midnight trek drew her attention like a blight upon the earth.

Despite the intrusion, Laurel was not offended, having little sense of personal space any more. Time, distance, magic, locks, all meant nothing to her friends.

'Child,' said Jaheira.

'Don't call me that.'

'Then cease this spectacle. You brood like a teenager.'

Laurel sat on the bed and pulled the blankets around her. If she were to be called a teenager then she would act the part. 'Leave me alone.'

'An entity of your power can not just stomp about without disturbing nature.'

'Am I a child or a god? Make up your mind.' Laurel covered her face with her hands. 'I am confused enough.'

'I am well-acquainted with the urge to worry old scars but you gnaw a bone that is long dust.' Jaheira sighed at her own lenience. Personal debt had made her far too indulgent of Laurel's moodier turns. 'As a warrior, I know your trials and have the utmost respect for them.' Laurel nearly laughed at the compliment. Jaheira respected nothing. Relative esteem was not an achievement. 'As your friend, I can not simply stand by as you wallow in misery.'

That last comment disarmed Laurel. 'I... I'm so tired. After everything, I thought I could rest but it never stops and I don't even know what "it" is.'

'You have my sympathy. I have never taken to the quiet life.'

'It's not the same. You know what you want but are trapped by circumstance. I have no excuse.'

Jaheira tapped the brightly-coloured door stopper that groaned on Laurel's desk. 'If you lack self-knowledge, I must question your taste in reading material.'

'It was my favourite,' grumbled Laurel.

'Quite. I recall you played the knight-errant with some relish if Gorion's tales were correct.'

Laurel supposed it was a more flattering childhood portrait than the one of her on the bearskin rug. 'I don't know whether to take offense at his disclosure or your doubt.'

'Parents rarely understand their children. Gorion did not claim otherwise.'

'He never trusted his own judgement.' Laurel smiled briefly. 'But he was right. I made Imoen the princess. She hated it.'

'She had sense back then? A pity she abandoned it.'

'She would jump into my arms… then wrestle me to the ground and tickle my sides.'

'Anyone else would have learnt to beware imperilled women.'

'I'm not ticklish.'

'Such a weakness may have spared you Viconia.'

Laurel flinched. There was an unspoken rule that this particular subject was not raised but Jaheira naturally deemed herself exempt. 'She was a powerful ally.'

'You preach to the choir. _I_ could walk with her and not burden myself with her chronic need for attention.'

Resisting the urge to hide under the pillow, Laurel set her jaw so her expression betrayed nothing. She was over the worst but the very thought of the dark elf roused inconvenient and shameful emotions. 'You are not helping.'

'Then help yourself.' Jaheira stood up from the desk. 'I do not mean to sound ungrateful but you have always tried to deflect your needs by serving others. Your achievements have only encouraged that tendency.'

'Nature's wisdom?'

'I was married to Khalid.'

'I miss Khalid.' Laurel knew better than to speak for Jaheira, who needed no one to acknowledge or presume her grief.

'He was very fond of you.'

Laurel smiled at the memory. 'He was so unlikely but he often finished what I couldn't. Do you remember the time those wolfweres had us? Then he found Balduran's sword and went scuttling into them shield-first. Even after he took down three, they couldn't make sense of what was happening.'

'Yes… I also remember him running to hold you upright before that impaled beam tore your guts out! That fight would have gone far better had you kept to your bow like I told you.' Jaheira glared at the wall where Laurel's armour hung, polished at Nalia's insistence. 'Just when you were starting to learn, you found that elven chain and went back into the fray!'

'I did what I must.'

'Then do so again.' Jaheria twitched as though an invisible hand had brushed her arm. 'Forgive me, child. I must return to the grove. The balance is still delicate and I may not stray without reason.'

'How much longer must you serve?'

'Until a local archdruid attains enough power to relieve me. Faldorn killed many and Tethyr is reluctant to send a replacement after losing Cernd.'

'You sound frustrated.'

'Deeply… and you are not helping. Your anxiety was rational when lives were at stake but now it only causes you pain. I will not stand for it.'

'Thank you.'

'Be well.' Jaheira took the form of a kestrel and returned to her vigil.

  


* * *

  


The next day, Laurel resolved to leave de'Arnise Keep and journey to Athkatla. Even if she did nothing but chew black lotus petals and cast _colour spray_ for her own amusement, it would be a change of scene.

She wore the simple green outfit that she used to keep a low profile. The colour pleased the eye and flattered her without drawing attention. The fabric was loose and plentiful enough to conceal her scarred, muscular form. A hidden knife and her spells were all the protection she needed.

Upon arrival, she could have announced herself at the gate but she did not feel like talking. The words of power danced under her breath as she cast _improved invisibility_. The Cowled Wizards may have caught the surge but they knew better than to confront her, especially after she had leveraged a reluctant Keldorn to decimate them with anti-magic.

As she passed by a guard taking a bribe, Laurel recalled why she hated Athkatla. It was hot, smelly and noisy but these complaints were trivial before the rampant greed. Sadly, it was the closest thing to an environment where she could function. The constant threat kept her stable, equalising the pressure within and without her skull.

She dragged her feet through Waukeen's Promenade, which was devoid of life and full of dust. Looking for evidence of dramatic construction work, she could not say if anything had changed. Her memory was a blur. Still invisible, she wandered up and down the tiers, in case her body recalled what her mind could not.

For a moment, she thought someone was watching her but she dismissed her paranoia. _Let them watch_.

Eventually, her path led to the slums and the Copper Coronet. She had mindlessly followed her homing instinct as if she needed the work. Laurel didn't want to go where everyone knew her name. Mentally sifting the wards of Athkatla, she considered the relative peace of the graveyard. However, a loud, incessant voice kept interrupting her train of thought. Moving away from the conversation, Laurel nearly jumped out of her skin when the speaker grabbed her arm. 'Wake up, you!'

It was Imoen, dolled up like a boyish scoundrel and grinning beneath her hood. Struck dumb by affection, Laurel gawked and returned a crooked, self-conscious smile. Embarrassed by her silence but not knowing what to say, she lunged into Imoen, nearly bumping their heads. Laughing charitably, Imoen ran her hand up Laurel's back and rubbed until the embrace relaxed into something more natural. 'Ooh, this is nice. Not like you to get all huggy.'

'I missed you.'

'Did ya now?' Imoen kissed Laurel's cheek. 'Knock off the spell. Yer making me look barmy.'

'Oh.' Laurel disentangled herself and became visible. 'How did you...'

'I got scrys and ears everywhere... in case a little sulk-monster dropped by without saying "hi"!'

'Are you running this city?'

'Nah.' Imoen folded her arms. 'I'm just _really_ bored and stubborn.'

Laurel wondered if she could go a week without being scolded. 'You should have...'

'Come to visit?' Imoen rolled her eyes. 'I hate that keep. It's full of stuffy nobles and yer no fun acting all lordlike.'

'You can't just rob my guests!'

'Not like I had anything else to do.'

'I…' Laurel shifted her feet, 'are you trying to make me feel bad?'

'You feel bad anyway. Just saying you got a _reason_ this time.'

'Fine.' Laurel raised her hands in surrender. 'I'm really…' feeling suddenly combative, she renewed her defence, 'look, I swear I wasn't ignoring you, I… ow!' Her face turned bright red as she covered her chest. 'What are you doing?'

'Only place yer still sensitive.' Imoen smiled wickedly before prodding again.

'Stop that!' Laurel batted Imoen's hands away. 'Are you drunk?'

'A bit. Now are you going to apologise or must I grope you again?'

'I'm sorry for neglecting you.'

'Ugh, you're no fun.' Imoen put her arm around Laurel and guided her into the tavern. 'We'll loosen that tongue of yours and you can tell me a story. What ya been reading?'

'Nothing new, I'm afraid.'

'Suits me.'

  


* * *

  


Two bottles later, Laurel had finished the story. Imoen wrinkled her nose. 'That it?'

'Imoen, I've told you this one before. You know that's it!'

'Eh...' Imoen swayed back on her stool. Laurel promptly grabbed Imoen's collar and steadied her. 'Can't believe you're reading that phooey. You lived it, got to save your princess and everything.'

'I got to save _you_.'

'I'm so much better than any stupid princess.' Imoen crossed her legs and lifted her wine glass in a mockery of refinement. 'Why didn't she just pick the lock?'

Laurel pulled Imoen's hood over her face. 'Because she's not a little sneak.'

'Ogre...' was all Laurel could hear of the muffled invective. Apparently, Imoen's hair had caught on a loose stitch.

'You're the one that wanted to hear it!'

Imoen sounded rather hurt when she freed herself. 'I like hearing you talk.'

'We're talking now.'

'No, I'm hearing you think. I like hearing you _talk_.'

'Ooh, Imoen.' Laurel slumped over the bar. 'Why don't you get us another bottle if you don't want to hear me think?'

'I got no money.'

'Then steal some.'

'Nah, I got other people to do that now.'

Laurel glanced up, wondering what mischief Imoen was involved in _this_ time. 'You joined the Shadow Thieves?'

'Didn't _you_?'

'That was...' Laurel could barely remember all the things she did trying to save Imoen. Most of it was a desperate blur. 'That was just a thing.'

'You _sure_ you want more wine?'

'Yes.' Laurel blinked. 'Did you answer my question? I don't think you did. I think you asked me one.'

'Well, if I didn't ask you something then whatcha say "yes" to?'

'You?'

Imoen pinched Laurel's ear. 'I ain't a "what"'

'Stop that!' Laurel covered her head. 'That's the one Jaheira sewed back on.'

'No way! Does it come off?'

'Even if it did, you couldn't have it.'

'Aw, I could suck on it to help me sleep.'

'No, you can suck your thumb like you always do.'

'I don't suck my thumb...' Imoen looked for tooth marks, 'do I?'

'Sometimes.'

'No wonder your friends don't take me seriously.'

'I thought we were talking about _your_ friends.'

'Huh?'

'The Shadow Thieves?'

'Oh... _them_.' Imoen scowled as though she'd been asked to continue her homework. 'They're the competition. I got my own little thing.'

'What?' Laurel's mind conjured all sorts of peril. She yanked Imoen close and scanned the room, ready to protect her from a net of unseen blades. 'You can't step on their toes. They'll kill you!'

'They can try but… come on! We ride with solars.'

'We're not the only mortals with power.'

'Relax. I've got three _contingencies_ good to go.' Imoen tapped Laurel on the nose. 'Just because _you_ lack foresight...'

'I'd rather adapt quickly than predict wrongly.'

'Cute. Your idea of adaptation is casting _stoneskin_ , _improved haste_ and heroically charging in. No wonder Auntie Jaheira had to sew you together. I'm so glad I missed that. I wouldn't know whether to laugh, cry or spit feathers.' Imoen absentmindedly played with Laurel's ear. 'I'd probably cry.' They stayed like this until Imoen spotted something. 'Ooh, Laurie! Look look look look look.'

'What are you...?'

'The girl who's just walked in.'

Laurel spied a pretty human with short tawny hair. She could have passed for a young teenager but a subtle hardness of gaze and sureness of tread implied she was older. 'One of yours?'

'Freelancer, arrived last week. Smart enough to keep away from the docks and government but her technique's a bit raw. Even you knew she was a thief.'

'You pointed her out. What else would I assume?'

'Like you want to hear the answer.' Imoen hopped off her stool and patted Laurel's hip. 'Get her attention.'

'Why?'

'Checking her out, dummy. Just smile at her 'til she comes over. Get her talking.' Imoen called Bernard away from his stock-counting, pointed at Laurel then knocked twice on the counter. 'Drinks are on me.'

'You have a tab?' Laurel's brain suddenly engaged. 'Wait. Forget about the tab! I never agreed to...'

'You love it.' Imoen grabbed Laurel's head and pointed it in the right direction. 'Now do your thing. I'll be watching.'

Cursing herself for being the world's biggest doormat, Laurel wearily supported her cheek and watched the freelancer work the patrons. It didn't take long to make eye contact. Laurel mustered a half-smile, which was apparently enough to make the freelancer's mouth twitch in kind. After feigning prevarication, so as not to look too eager or concerned, the freelancer approached. A clunk heralded the arrival of more wine. Laurel was tempted to steady her nerves by drinking straight from the carafe but that rarely made a good impression. 'Hello,' she said, inwardly cursing the sound of her voice. She couldn't affect nonchalance without seeming drugged.

'Hi,' said the freelancer, hovering at arm's length. She was clearly nervous behind her impish smile.

Laurel patted the vacant bar stool. 'Sit down.' The freelancer complied. 'What's your name?'

'Dust.' The name triggered Laurel's danger sense but Dust didn't _feel_ like a vampire. It was likely just a budding rogue's juvenile front. Humans loved names and invented more with each short generation. Laurel envied their creativity. She took some pride in her human name and upbringing. 'It's real. My mum was a bit morbid... and drunk, very drunk.'

Something about Dust's voice put Laurel at ease. It was very teenage, affecting maturity through hyper-awareness. Laurel poured two wine glasses. 'Does that often break the ice?'

'Not really. Most people find it creepy.'

'I've seen a lot. I don't disturb easily.'

'I'll work on it.' Dust held Laurel's gaze as she took the glass.

Laurel saw right away that Dust only wet her lips. 'It's not poison.' To prove her claim, Laurel snatched the glass, visibly upsetting Dust's composure. After gulping back a large mouthful, Laurel returned the glass. Dust proved her trust a little too quickly. Her cheeks flushed as she tried to hide her coughing fit.

Without seeing their faces, Laurel could have mistaken Dust for Imoen. They wore the same "darks" and were of comparative size though Imoen had a fuller figure. If any part of Dust were uniquely charming, it was the mouth, wide with thin lips and a missing incisor. Dust noticed the scrutiny and broke the silence. 'Do you come here often? I don't think I've seen you before.'

'I used to… but not any more.' Laurel stared into her wine glass. 'I should do.'

'You have friends here?'

'My sister.'

'She about?'

Laurel didn't bother checking. It was safe to assume that Imoen had used magic to disappear. 'She's busy.'

'That's bad. She shouldn't neglect you when you come to visit.'

'I kind of deserve it.' Laurel ran her finger along the rim of her glass. 'I think this is her way of socialising me.'

Dust leant forward. Her hand brushed Laurel's hip. 'I'm happy to oblige. What's your name?'

Laurel ignored the pickpocket attempt. 'Elly,' she said, slipping into her alias. It could stand for any number of elven names. 'I'm not terribly interesting. I don't do much these days.'

'You got _me_ interested.'

Laurel couldn't help but smile at Dust's boldness. 'Why?'

'A beautiful elf in a place like this would get anyone's attention.'

'I'm glad you think so but beauty is dull. It just means my mother was beautiful.'

'True, but your scars…' Laurel had covered her limbs and applied cosmetics to mitigate her facial scarring but a hostile environment could quickly undo her work. Reflexively lifting a hand to her face, she realised that she had removed her gloves. Her left hand was a total mess due to years of recklessly batting weapons away from vital organs. 'I bet you have a story for each and every one.'

Laurel honestly couldn't remember where she got most of them. 'Perhaps… if you tell me about your missing tooth.'

Dust's mouth compressed to a mere line as she averted her face. 'It's still sore. I may need more wine.' Laurel dutifully topped up both glasses. Dust took a huge gulp and wiped the excess from her chin. 'And a promise.'

'I need to hear it first.'

Dust sketched a path down Laurel's side. The motion was clumsy but still pleasant. 'You need to tell me about _every_ …'

'Ah hah!' Before the hand could reach Laurel's thigh, an invisible force twisted Dust's arm in a vicious hammerlock. Imoen clicked her fingers, a dramatic but needless gesture, and dispelled the invisibility. Bernard was comically untroubled by the ruckus as Imoen brandished Laurel's coin pouch. 'Looking for this, ya sausage-fingered trollop?' Dust tried to respond but choked as she inhaled something unmentionable from the bar. 'You better be. Working my patch? That's pretty buffleheaded… working my _sister_ …? Dust yelped as Imoen tightened the lock. 'Listen up, gappy. You and I are due a little girl talk. I like what I hear? We could go places.' Imoen pushed her face so close that their noses touched. 'If I don't…' Imoen gripped Dust's jaw. 'I'll make the rest of yer teeth into a necklace.' Dust went blank with terror. 'Now let's play a little game. You work the docks for a week without getting caught, we'll get that itch scratched.' Imoen pinched Dust's cheek. 'Can't have you going to piddle whenever some pretty girl makes cow eyes at you.' With a sudden yank, Imoen threw Dust away and mockingly dangled a second coin purse. 'You'd better hop to it if you want yer belly to stop rumbling.'

Dust nodded briskly, gave Laurel a wounded look then scampered away before the night got any worse. Imoen whooped and threw Laurel's coin purse in the air. Laurel caught it and emphatically kept it on the side farthest from Imoen. 'That was cruel.'

'You were the one getting her hopes up,'

Laurel stammered. 'I… I wasn't..!'

'No need to get all het up,' Imoen said plainly. 'I know she ain't your type. And she actually fancies you, which is a big no-no.' After a heavy silence, she broke the tension with a wink. 'Ya still got it though.'

'What do you mean?'

'Don't play dumb with me, you elven strumpet.' Imoen flicked wine down Laurel's front. 'I saw the whole thing. That indirect snog with the glass?'

'What? No, I just wanted to prove…'

'And this?' Imoen ran her finger along the rim with theatrical lewdness. 'I half-expected you to start tonguing it!'

'Imoen!' Laurel turned bright red and buried her face in her arms.

'Did you see the look on her face?' Imoen's laughter filled the room. 'By Sune, I bet she'd fantasised about you every night for…' Laurel shoved Imoen off her bar stool and into something sticky. 'Bully.'

'You said you'd knock her teeth out!'

'She was hitting on my sister.'

'Only because you told _me_ to…' Laurel bit her tongue, 'get her.'

'Details.' Imoen gave up any pretence and drank straight from the carafe, spilling wine everywhere. 'Okay, so I laid it on a bit thick… but better I scare her with words than the Shadow Thieves break out the pliers.'

Laurel sighed, unhappily agreeing. 'You thought that too?'

'Yep…' Imoen finally showed remorse. 'Got a good look at her mouth. Jaw felt straight. She didn't lose that in a scrap. Punishment for something. Maybe her family tried to straighten her out.'

'You should have…'

'What?'

'Told her…' Laurel's voice trailed into silence.

'Told her _what_?' Imoen repeated. 'After all this time, you still can't say it? Even to _me_?' Laurel remained silent. 'Just goes to show. There ain't no sisterhood, Laurie. No one owes you a break just 'cause they're as queer and lonely as you are.' Imoen's mouth quivered before she hid the tic with a deep slug of wine.

'Erm…' Laurel had a sinking feeling that the night would end badly, 'don't you think you've drank…'

Imoen banged the carafe on the bar. 'No!' She grinned manically. With a flourish, she dumped both coin purses on the counter. 'I say we _double_ this before they kick us out.'

Laurel groaned. 'How?'

  


* * *

  


Laurel and Imoen found themselves in a darts tournament. Despite their inebriation, they won every match only to have the defeated finalists welch on their bet. Imoen responded by finding the losing team's cart and painting 'dartbitch' on the side in big white letters. When Laurel queried the insult's penetration, Imoen guffawed so loudly that the guard came to investigate.

They ran haphazardly until Laurel's dizziness sent her and Imoen tumbling into a big pile of refuse. As the guards rattled past, Imoen rested her head on Laurel's chest. 'We lost them.' She giggled. 'Your heartbeat's _so_ slow.'

Laurel's head was still spinning. She had hit the bottle hard after Imoen's flare-up. 'I still train.'

Imoen rubbed Laurel's belly. 'Like you'd ever stop.' Fingers lazily traced the little grooves of Laurel's abdominal muscles. 'This is so weird… you're like a tiny golem.'

'I wish I were.' Laurel was starting to feel maudlin. 'I could be immortal and strong and not feel anything…'

'Don't say that.' Imoen kissed the top of Laurel's breast.

'Sorry.'

Imoen yawned. 'Bleh. This stinks. We should get up.'

'Go on then.'

'I'm tired. You'll have to carry me.'

'All right.' Laurel climbed out of the refuse, holding Imoen like a spouse.

'Silly.' Imoen purred. 'I hate it when you do this.'

'Then why did you ask me?'

'Because it's you.'

'You're not making any sense.'

'You want to be a golem.' Imoen wrapped her arms around Laurel's neck and looked into her eyes. 'What about now?'

Laurel couldn't help but smile. 'No,' she breathed.

'Good.' Imoen tapped Laurel's cheek. 'Now put me down. I got an image to uphold.' Laurel hesitantly complied. 'Hey! Let's get a hotel room!'

'Why?'

'Because it's fun. I know this really good dive near the city gates that ain't full of liches and… uh, wait, you like that sort of thing.'

'I still don't get it. Don't you have a… "den" or something?'

'You never had to work for Puffguts!' Denying any further objections, Imoen grabbed Laurel's hand and dragged her along. 'Come on, my treat.'

  


* * *

  


Laurel had to applaud Imoen's taste. The Duchess was the kind of quiet, ordinary space that was both nowhere and everywhere. The innkeeper was bored enough to be personal. When Imoen clung to Laurel's arm and introduced her sister, the innkeeper's eyes betrayed recognition rather than confusion. 'Y'know,' said Imoen, 'the stupid one who saved my life.'

The innkeeper conveyed his gratitude to Laurel in a way that was just weary enough to sound genuine. Clearly he had got to know Imoen.

'Have you got my room free?'

The innkeeper hoped that she hadn't carved her name anywhere else.

'Hey, if everything were mine, I'd be bored stiff.' Imoen threw Dust's purse at the innkeeper. 'Now chuck us that key. Laurie's all squiffy and needs a lie down.'

Laurel wanted to protest but she could barely walk in a straight line. Even if she did a better job of maintaining her scruples, she could not hold her drink like Imoen. As they climbed the stairs, Laurel buried her face in Imoen's hair, which smelt of grime and alcohol. Laurel had once envied Imoen's rich auburn locks but the stress of torture, magic, chemicals and malnutrition had reduced that luxurious coif to a frayed mat. The odd shade of pink led many to believe she was planetouched, which was truer than they suspected.

Laurel had to pull away before she started chewing. There was a reason she kept her bangs short. 'It's not fair.'

'What ain't fair?'

'You started drinking before me.'

'Yeah, but you get to feel sick so I don't have to. That's the deal, remember?'

'I can't believe Ilmater is holding me to that stupid promise I made when we were kids.'

'It was _very_ sweet.' Imoen tousled Laurel's hair. 'Shame you grew into a selfish gannet who hogged an entire bottle of wine to herself.'

'I didn't realise…' Laurel bumped into Imoen. They had apparently found their room. 'You need a bath. That smell's making my stomach feel funny.'

'Laurie, that's the worst chat-up line I've ever heard.'

'What? No I…'

Imoen's laughter cut short the objection. 'Fine…' she opened the door, 'most of it's in my clothes. I'll take them off unless you find my naked body even more revolting.'

'Uh…' Laurel felt dizzy as she tried to determine the least inappropriate response.

'Just put your feet up before they tangle. I can hear your mind going "whoosh!" from here.'

Laurel collapsed onto the bed. The sheets were cool, crisp and unfamiliar. 'Oh,' she said quizzically, 'this is… nice. It's like a normal bed.'

'Yeah, I don't know how you cope with that… _thing_ in de'Arnise Keep.'

'Badly.'

Imoen shrugged off her cloak. 'Why don't you get it changed?'

'Some… reason. I'm the lord. People expect it.'

' _You_ should be telling _them_ what to expect.'

'Don't start.'

'Yer hopeless.' Imoen took off her stab vest, keeping her eyes on Laurel as it hit the floor. Laurel watched without expression. Imoen's puppy fat had gone for good. The outline of her teenage form remained but there was scant flesh to fill it out. Her breasts hung loose from her ribs. A stubborn fold of skin above her belt was the only youthful vestige in an otherwise hollow trunk.

'Are you eating?' asked Laurel.

'Like a horse.'

'Okay…'

The britches came off. Imoen's hips and thighs remained taut and strong from countless road miles and narrow escapes. She kept watching like an owl as she slipped beneath the sheets. 'You doing the usual?'

'Hmm?'

'Sweating in your clothes all night and getting them all manky.' Laurel pulled her limbs closer to her body. 'You still at that? Come on, Laurie, you're beautiful. Even Vicky said your muscles were sexy and she don't like girls.'

'She was just toying with me.'

'Don't mean she was lying.'

'She liked my body because it killed people.'

'Not any more.' Imoen gently uncurled Laurel's hand from its foetal clutch. 'It's over, yeah? Our little freelancer clearly had another use for you.'

'She liked my scars,' said Laurel glumly.

'The past ain't going nowhere. Better it makes someone happy than you miserable.'

'It's not coming back either.' Laurel's eyes grew warm as they studied Imoen's face. 'I enjoyed tonight. I wish we never had to leave home, that we could have stayed like this forever.'

'I'm always here. You know that.'

'But…' Laurel sniffed, 'you're human. You'll…'

'Laurie!' Imoen exclaimed with both tenderness and exasperation. 'You do this _every_ time you get drunk. I'm an archmage! I could live forever if yer don't mind having a lich for a sister.'

'Promise me you won't do that.'

'Nope.' Imoen caressed Laurel's hand. 'Already made one promise. Got to keep that one first.' The words echoed in Laurel's head. " _Never let a friend down, no Sir! Stick with you until you say otherwise, I will!_ " 'What brought this on, hey?'

Laurel took back her hand, feeling unworthy of any comfort. Thoughts arose that she would never admit while sober. 'I… I don't want to upset you.'

'You won't.'

Laurel's gaze flitted between her pillow and Imoen. 'Whenever we're like this, I wish we could just… go back. I don't know where… in time, space? When we were small and of no consequence to anyone but ourselves.' Laurel reached out falteringly. 'But then I see your face and everything that's changed.' Imoen's breath quickened as Laurel's hand drew near. 'It… it makes me sick… I hate myself for thinking this… but I…' Laurel brushed a stray hair, stuck with sweat, from Imoen's forehead. 'I think your scars are really pretty. I hate what they did to you and I hate that you suffered but…' Laurel's fingertip traced Imoen's eyebrow. 'I can't help it. Especially this one… and that little space where the hairs don't grow.' Laurel reached Imoen's temple then followed the curve downwards. 'And I hate that you've become so gaunt… but it brings out your bone structure and your lovely blue eyes.' The tightness in Imoen's chest became unbearable, forcing her mouth open as if she were gasping for air. 'Your lips have stayed full. They made me so jealous. I always wanted them for myself…'

With the ferocity of a burst dam, Imoen grabbed Laurel's hand and showered it with kisses, tasting each finger, the nails, the knuckles, the palm, the heel then, to deny any misunderstanding, she ran her tongue the length of Laurel's index finger and took the first two digits in her mouth. Laurel gasped but before she could react further, Imoen rolled away, pulling Laurel's arm with her. They lay front-to-back, Imoen seeking comfort in Laurel's embrace while avoiding her gaze. 'Don't talk,' said Imoen, her voice breaking with emotion. 'Everything that you could possibly say, I've played in my head a thousand times. Every refusal, every apology, every stupid excuse that only you could come out with, I've heard them all just… don't talk.' Imoen clutched Laurel's hand tighter. 'There are only three words I want to hear and I don't even want to hear _them_ because they won't mean what… what I mean… so don't talk.' Laurel dearly wanted to console Imoen or, failing that, run away but neither was possible. 'It was easier, y'know, when we could take a dirt nap at any time. I could live in the moment and look forward to… this,' Imoen said bitterly. She sobbed then forced a smile as her eyes grew wet and puffy. 'You're… you're a hard person to love, Laurie, and I love you _so_ hard. You'd go plane-hopping, dragon-slaying and lose an ear just to save my skin but now it's behind us… seems you'd rather do anything than spend time with me. You'd rather do stupid, meaningless chores for people you hate.'

Laurel could barely process what she was hearing. All she could do was focus on the parts that wouldn't shut down her brain, anything that didn't involve Imoen's desire for intimacy and the warmth of her naked body. 'I wish I could spend time with you. I really do but you know what I'm like. I've always needed you to pull me away.'

' _I_ need _you_ , Laurie! Not as a hero, I need you as a friend and as a… I wish I didn't. I wish I could stop but it gets worse and worse. Do you know how many women I laid to get over you? In this bed?' Laurel knew the sheets were clean but all she could feel were the patches of sweat from each encounter. 'There was… oh, it was horrible… there was this elven merc who owed money to some bad people and she… looked like you. That was the worst morning of my life. Irenicus may have torn my soul out but, that night, I just gave it away…'

'I'm sorry…' Laurel had to make this stop.

'Sorry for what? Not bedding your sister? Like anyone would fault you for that.'

'We're not normal sisters though.' Laurel's skin itched beneath her clothes. She couldn't bear the thought that Imoen was tortured by guilt over familial lust but winning this argument could prove dangerous.

'I don't care about that. Even before it all went wrong, I'd grown to think of you as my sister, my big, beautiful, buffleheaded sister.' Imoen kissed Laurel's hand and nestled deeper into her embrace. 'It was easier that way. I could love you without shame and keep my dreams to myself… then I noticed little things, where your eyes wandered, when you got all tongue-tied. I thought it was all just wishful thinking on my part but then there was that dryad, the sirines… fat lot of good you were there… and Viconia. That one thing we had in common became a big ol' wall that you built higher and higher until I was dizzy… but I'd wrapped myself around you so tight, I couldn't let go.' Imoen shook her head. 'All my little games down here, to prove I was my own woman? I was just being you, trying to impress those who mean nothing to me.'

'You seem to be having more fun.'

Imoen chuckled. 'That ain't hard.' She let out a deep sigh and her tension dissipated. Though hardly content, the stress of disclosure was behind her. 'Yeah, it's a good lark but it's so much better with you. I love watching you squirm, get indignant and do that spacey thing that no one else gets. People think you're being all pointy-eared and mysterious but _I_ know you're just staring at some girl's tits.'

'So you like to draw uncharitable conclusions and watch me suffer.' Laurel could feel their dialogue easing into its normal pattern of loaded jibes and evasion. It felt like a defeat.

'Yep, though your goggle-eyes do make me jealous.' Imoen writhed seductively. 'Good jealous, mind, like all I want to do is rip open my top, drag you into a hedge and do you silly.' Her playfulness couldn't last. 'In the end though, it just made me sad.' Laurel didn't reply. 'Nothing's going to change, is it?'

'I… don't know…'

''Cause nothing _has_ changed. I think you always knew, deep down, but you can't even face yourself. Dealing with me is just… a bridge too far.' Imoen choked. 'It don't matter. Just forget I said anything.'

'How could I?'

'You'll manage,' said Imoen. 'You always do. Remember that time in Ust Natha when Phaere had me in the lust chambers? You were the only one who didn't say a word. Vicky joked that I was ruined and that nothing but a drow would satisfy me. I asked if she were offering but she started getting snotty and I can't be doing with her when she gets like that. Jaheira couldn't decide whether I'd been "unwise" or taken one for the team. Poor old Nalia was convinced that she was going to be next and almost chewed through her fingers.'

'Valygar thought you were the victim of some drow enchantment.'

'So you _do_ remember. Heh… Valygar. I'm amazed he put up with us. He liked you, though. Misery, company, et cetera. You still see him?'

'He watches the land for us. Hardly glamorous but he seems content. Between him and Jaheira, we have the safest roads in Amn.'

'I bet.' Imoen stroked Laurel's hand. 'Why didn't you say something?'

'I couldn't think of anything.' Laurel cringed as the words left her mouth. It was an honest answer but wholly inadequate.

'Anything what? True… appropriate?'

'I…'

'What did you feel?'

'I… I was sad. I felt that you were growing up and that I had lost you… and…' Imoen encouraged more words with gentle circles on Laurel's skin, 'that you were trying to hurt me.'

Imoen closed her eyes. 'I was… by getting the one thing you'd always wanted, nasty, guilt-ridden sex with a drow, and forcing you to see what I… what we _both_ were.' Imoen's breath grew ragged. 'You're not going to say anything, are you? You never say anything. You didn't even ask if I was all right!' Her voice rose with that last rebuke. 'You're the most protective person I know, except when you have to face your own horn. Then you'd just let some drow tie me to a rack and beat me and shove her minge in my face!'

'Imoen!' Laurel squeezed her eyes shut as though it would make her deaf as well as blind. Her lower muscles ached and refused to lie still. They pushed forward, draping her naked foot over Imoen's.

'You want to know what it's like? I'll tell you. It was _hilarious_ ,' Imoen spat out the word, 'like we were acting out a scene from one of your silly books… but once I'd got her off she became all needy.' Imoen's foot rubbed against Laurel's. 'She was trembling as she ran her hands all over and kissed me, like she was scared and ashamed but grateful at the same time. Didn't feel like laughing after that. Then she slipped her tongue into my mouth and I came pretty much instantly.' Laurel bit her lip, too ashamed to beg for respite from the gory details. Her thighs rubbed together, each one pushing in turn against Imoen's hips. 'I think I understood you a little bit. That power to break someone's evil heart and reveal the sexy sweetness within. Guess it's the same with me. I dreamt I could get through all your repression and just… make you happy.'

'You… do, Imoen.' Laurel could barely form the words.

'Nah, there are little moments, just enough to keep me… keep me from…' Imoen broke down and cried freely. Laurel squeezed tighter, as if it would contain the violent sobbing. Unsure whether it was a futile bid to stop the tears or her body yielding to its hunger, Laurel kissed the top of Imoen's back. It was hot and inviting. A few strands of hair tickled Laurel's nose, prompting her to move upwards and touch her lips to the base of Imoen's skull. Lured closer by the feel of bare skin and the intoxicating smell of hair and sweat, Laurel kissed just below Imoen's ear, drawing forth a sensual moan. Imoen started chasing those eager lips with her own. 'Please!' she said. 'Don't…' even as she protested, she kept lunging in for more. 'You're drunk and you're… I don't want to wake up and…' another one, 'lose you and…' Imoen ran her hands through Laurel's hair. 'Oh Laurie, I need you so much!'

  


* * *

  


The morning after was delicate. Every sound was deafening. Despite Laurel's inexperience, her nimble hands and mouth had quickly satisfied Imoen, who cried and whimpered as years of physical and emotional need were fulfilled. However, Laurel's body stubbornly resisted. As the night wore on, Imoen's joy gave way to tearful frustration. Whether it was due to Laurel's inhibition or simple chemistry, neither could say. Eventually, Imoen brought Laurel to orgasm through sheer violence. As Laurel recovered, Imoen withdrew her fingers and wailed at the amount of blood. Laurel could say nothing to placate her, so she simply held Imoen until sleep took its course. Laurel was vaguely aware that she was still bleeding but she wanted to savour the unique pain and worried that even mere acknowledgement would upset Imoen.

Neither spoke much before parting, Imoen's fear and guilt colluding with Laurel's uncertainty. As they approached the city gates, Laurel walked gingerly, her core still aching. Imoen looked utterly desolate, prompting Laurel to take her hand.

'Thank you,' said Laurel.

'I…' Imoen looked down at their hands, 'I don't know what you're thanking me for. You were wonderful and I… I'm useless.'

'You're not useless.'

'Then you just don't fancy me… do you?'

When Laurel didn't answer straight away, Imoen began to cry. Laurel scrambled to find the words. 'I… it's all a bit new, that's all. I need some time…'

'Okay…' Imoen rubbed her nose and looked away. 'You'd say if you were letting me down easy. Right?'

Laurel couldn't bring herself to lie. 'I don't know. I… I'm sorry, Imoen. I've never…'

'Nah, you're right. I can't pressure you.' Imoen gave a little, self-deprecating smile. 'If…' she swallowed her dread, 'if it doesn't work out then… we can always go back, right?'

'I don't think I could forget last night.'

Imoen nearly laughed for want of a better way to cope. 'You never could make things easy, y'know? Guess you wouldn't be my Laurie otherwise.'

'I could change.'

'I don't know… don't know if I'd want you to.'

'Even if I hurt you?'

'Like I said, you're a hard person to love… but I still love you. Always will.' Laurel felt as though a beehive had ruptured in her stomach. Imoen perceived the turmoil and stroked Laurel's arm. 'Go home and fix up. You should at least get over that wine before thinking too much.'

'Home…' the word raised more questions than Laurel could face. 'Okay… I promise I'll come back.'

'Goodbye.'

  


* * *

  


The walk back to de'Arnise Keep was slow but bearable. The sun was out and Laurel was preoccupied enough to forget her pain. A curious haze enveloped her thoughts, making her feel warm and spacey. She was eventually compelled to lie against a tree, adjusting her legs to accommodate her tenderness.

More than anything, she felt young, as if her old skin had been peeled back to reveal new, unspoilt flesh. She didn't feel any lighter or quicker. It was youth in its most primal form, comparable to nothing but itself.

A shadow fell. Blinking away the summer pollen, Laurel was not wholly surprised to find Jaheira blocking the sun.

Jaheira's face was a jumble of concern, disbelief and mortification. She steeled herself as if she had no choice but to dive into a stagnant well. 'When Gorion asked me to be your guardian, I did not anticipate _this_ particular chore.'

'Hmm?'

'Do not play the fool. It does not become you at the best of times.' Earthen magic flowed at Jaheira's beckon. 'Let's make this easy for both of us. Was there any tearing? That bow-legged gait tells me "yes".'

Laurel felt oddly disappointed when _cure light wounds_ soothed that unique, evocative pain but she was downright appalled when Jaheira bellowed the mantra for _cure disease_. 'Jaheira!' Laurel's objection was pointedly ignored. She grumbled as the spell bathed her skin. Sex, blood, dirt and alcohol formed an unholy quartet of risk but she would sooner nurse an infection than lose her pride.

'Is there any chance you could be pregnant? Were you with a man?'

'Please! I…'

'Answer the question, _woman_!'

Laurel was stunned. Jaheira always insisted on calling her "child" and, after countless epic battles, it was _this_ that warranted a change of term? Laurel deduced that this was a temporary measure to provoke a response but it was probably safer to play along. 'I was not with a man.'

'Good. You will make a fine mother one day but not now.' Jaheira's magic dispersed into the ground. 'No doubt you are feeling rather exposed but I had to weigh the consequences before… discussing your feelings.' The last three words were glazed with sarcasm. It may have been genuine contempt or fear of intimacy. If Jaheira knew she would no more admit it to herself than anyone else.

Laurel was still reeling from the frank judgement of her parenting skills. 'What makes you think _I_ want to discuss them?'

'I have a duty of care. We're having this conversation whether we like it or not.'

Laurel gave up. 'Then could you at least sit down?' she patted the ground next to her. 'People can't talk when you loom over them.' Jaheira complied. 'How did you know?'

'You're glowing.'

'Really?' Jaheira nodded. 'Is this some Great Druid power?'

'It helps but no. You just learn to recognise it.'

'I can believe that.' Laurel fully expected to have eyes the size of dinner plates and skin that shone pink and gold.

'Is this someone we know or did you bed an agreeable stranger?'

'Isn't it poor form to divulge that?'

'As a public figure you should arm your confidants if you wish to protect your lover.'

'I don't think your current position is good for you.' Laurel was starting to predict the advice she would get from Nalia. 'Being both stubborn _and_ manipulative is just unfair.'

'Stop complaining. I haven't got all day.'

'Fine. She wasn't a stranger.'

Jaheira folded her arms. 'If I _must_ play your guessing game, I would say Imoen, simply because I fear the alternatives.'

Laurel arched an eyebrow. 'You approve of her?'

'Of course,' said Jaheira. ' _I_ would not want to wake up next to her and she can be a scoundrel but she is capable, devoted, shares your past and openly loves women. There is no need for tortured secrets or innuendo. You may lament that she is neither dark nor mysterious but it is time you outgrew such nonsense.'

'But we're siblings! You don't think that's a problem?'

'Your kinship was purely divine. Nature has no stake. You are not even the same race, let alone blood.'

'We are still sisters. I… don't think that will ever change...' encouraged by Jaheira's words, Laurel came clean. 'Even after last night.'

'Then that is for you and her to resolve.'

'I guess.'

'It did not prevent your coupling.'

'We were drunk.'

'Alcohol does many things but it rarely promotes incest when the urge is not there. The horror of the Realms would multiply tenfold.'

Laurel winced. 'Please do not use that word.' She tilted her head back and watched the sky. 'It's not just that. I think Imoen's really pretty but I never considered her as a lover.'

'How does she feel?'

'She…' Laurel's stomach filled with butterflies. It made her want to cry. 'She loves me in every sense of the word.'

'I would urge you not to squander it.'

'I fear I already have.' Laurel dipped her eyes. 'We had… begun to drift apart. I think that is why things came to a head.'

'You are leading separate lives…' Jaheira thought for a moment. 'Have you considered joining the Harpers?'

'Our experiences have left me sceptical.'

'You have seen them at their worst but you are now far beyond the intrigues that plague the middle ranks.' Laurel frowned at the memory. 'You would have responsibility and the chance to make a difference. Imoen could put her guile to a better use than wanton mischief.'

'That does sound possible.' Laurel sat up straight. 'It would have to be on _my_ terms.'

'Our numbers are thin here. I am indisposed and we culled many when they sought your head. You would have the power to aid when you deem fit.'

'I'll think about it.'

'As you should.' Jaheira's eyes glazed over. She blinked rapidly, receiving news from an unknown source. 'One of the archdruids is calling. Yet another decision that he can not make himself.' She climbed to her feet. 'I am surprised by my eagerness to see this work but I daresay Imoen would be more bearable as an honest woman than a wayward child. If not, she would still have my gratitude for making you happy. I once despaired that your masochistic heart would bring nothing but pain.'

'Thank you.' Jaheira's words made Laurel feel rather selfish. 'What about your heart?'

'…it has come and gone, child.' Jaheira looked impossibly tired.

'You're not alone.'

Jaheira's hands signalled her anxiety to leave. Her face betrayed her desire to stay. 'I am one with nature but… you may be the only true friend I have left.'

'If it doesn't work out, you and I will follow the sun and put the world to rights.'

'We will.' Jaheira shifted to her kestrel form and took flight. Laurel watched the silhouette until it dipped over the horizon.

  


* * *

  


Laurel spent a fortnight at the keep gathering her thoughts. Paradoxically, her worries helped her focus on her public duties, which were a welcome distraction. One engagement went so well that Nalia was determined to commission a ball gown. When Laurel expressed scepticism that her adventurer's body would flatter such opulence, Nalia began rhapsodising about some ancient design that would make Laurel "puissant" and "breath-taking". Laurel's mind filled with visions of hulking, tribal warrior-queens holding court in chainmail lingerie and she really didn't have the breasts to pull off that look.

Behind closed doors, Laurel had something of a lost weekend, squirrelling dubious literature and vigorously exploring her body to discern how it worked as something other than a weapon. The process was fraught by the round of spells she had to maintain in case one of her powerful and presuming friends invited themselves into her bedroom. To her intense annoyance, her thoughts kept drifting to evil creatures, cambions, succubi and drow, always drow! She tried to imagine Imoen playing a drow priestess, complete with adamantine brassiere and whip. Laurel giggled, thinking that Imoen would overact, make snarky comments but secretly enjoy every minute if it made Laurel happy. The butterflies started again.

Once resolved, Laurel strapped on her Aslyferund chain, mana bow and longsword, Angurvadal. Nalia did not pretend to be thrilled at Laurel's sudden, indefinite leave but the promise of future respite was dutifully extended. Laurel was grateful. Throughout their many ordeals, Nalia had been reliably true even when it showed her in poor light. There was no tortured complexity beneath her good-natured condescension. In her own way, she had been the rock of the party.

When Laurel departed, Valygar was waiting for her. He had reported back to the hold a few days prior and his instincts had compelled him to stay. He escorted her to the border in companionable silence, quietly proud to be her last contact with her old life. He kept an arrow knocked to his bow so Laurel could relax. It was a sweet gesture.

Upon reaching Athkatla, Laurel was surprised when Imoen did not leap out of the shadows. Feeling chastised for her self-regard, Laurel strode down the promenade. On her last visit, she had been nothing. Now she was Laurel, warrior-mage, godspawn and hero. People gawked or scurried out of her way even though she kept her head bowed and arms folded with habitual diffidence. She casually dropped money in the lap of every beggar she passed. Laurel had never sought wealth. Now she had more than she could spend. Her biggest expense had been magical ammunition and that hadn't needed repleneshment for a long time.

When Laurel entered the Copper Coronet in her full regalia, the patrons gave a sarcastic cheer. She was not disliked _per se_ but her bloody swathe through the back rooms had labelled her a dangerous killjoy when on "business". Bernard explained that Imoen had not visited for nearly a week, which was unusual as she ran her operation from the Coronet. When Laurel offered her condolences, Bernard shrugged and said it was useful having an archmage on tap, however childish. Laurel bought a glass of white wine to wash away the road and calm her nerves then left before her presence dampened the revelry.

The next port of call was The Duchess, though it proved difficult to find as Laurel's memory of the route was a drunken blur. After walking in circles for an age, she finally arrived. The innkeeper explained that Imoen had brought another woman and booked her in for a month. Laurel asked if the guest was missing a prominent tooth. When the answer came back positive, Laurel thanked the innkeeper, stepped outside and turned invisible. She could have simply forced her way through but this was not a time to flaunt her power. Casting _knock_ to open "Imoen's room", Laurel mused on how her spell selection had changed. Her standard repertoire of buffs, crowd control and desperate measures had grown far more… domestic.

The room was empty. Laurel was surprised, thinking it early in the day for a thief to be on the prowl. Then again, Imoen had always got up at the crack of dawn and wrought her mischief while everyone in Candlekeep was still bleary-eyed. Laurel kicked off her boots and hopped on the bed. She tenderly brushed where Imoen had lain. _I'll do better next time_ , Laurel promised silently.

Grabbing a book from her pack, Laurel settled in. She didn't have to wait long before the door opened. If Dust were surprised, she did a good job of hiding it, though her eyes did widen at Laurel's equipment.

'Wow,' said Dust. 'I heard that you were serious but… Laurel, is it?'

'Yes, I'm sorry for misleading you.'

'Well, you are in my bed. Seems to me like you've actually come good.' Dust shooed Laurel over. 'Budge up. My feet are killing me.' Laurel complied as Dust kicked off her boots and hopped on the mattress. 'I apologise for the smell. Been on the game since sun up.'

'Imoen's tutelage?'

'Yeah. I er… failed her little test and she had to save my hide. I ran away from the Shadow Thieves, blundered into a house full of mages and got turned into a chicken.'

'You were lucky it wasn't permanent.'

'Imoen was pulling her hair out trying to reverse it. By the end, she was so knackered that she insisted on training me to avoid a, erm… "three-peat"?'

'We've seen it before.'

'Beshaba…' Dust shook her head, 'Anyhow, she turned out to be good fun, when she weren't pulling my arm out of its socket. You can tell she's walking wounded but she's always turning tricks. Kind of inspiring, really.'

'I'm glad she came through.' Laurel felt pride at Imoen's generosity.

'You and me both.' Dust hesitated. 'Look, you're probably wondering why I didn't jump out my skin when you turned up. Imoen told me you'd be down sooner or later. She… also told me about…' Dust gulped. 'I'm not shy, all right? I'm just very aware that you could turn me into another kind of dust at the drop of a hat.'

'I promise I won't hurt you.'

'That don't mean you won't _kill_ me…' Dust sighed, 'nah, I'm being awkward. Everyone says you're all heart. Imoen told me everything about you and her, from growing up in that library to a blow by blow account of…' she patted the bed.

'Oh.'

'She also said that it would be easier to get blood from a stone than get you to talk about it.'

Laurel could not say whether Imoen had voiced despair or laid down a challenge. Both warranted an answer. 'I had trouble… letting go. It was _not_ Imoen's fault! I felt safe and… loved but I couldn't do the same for her.'

'Hmmm. By her reckon, Imoen's had _plenty_ of action. Girl like that should know you can have fun without getting off. You sure she's not a bloke?'

'Once there was this girdle and…'

'Eh?'

'I've said too much.'

Dust laughed. 'Yeah, if this is going where I think, I'd just wind her up and get stuck in that unpronounceable sphere thing again… if she ever comes back.'

'So she's…?'

'Gone? Yep.' Dust sounded a little hurt. 'Kitted me out with some amazing stuff, which is nice but clearly she ain't coming back any time soon.' She lifted her top. 'Is this really _dragon_ hide?'

'Yes. We never found a use for it.'

'Dare I ask what she normally wore?'

'A set of elven chain, similar to mine.'

Dust wrinkled her nose. 'Really? Like you were born to wear that… but Imoen? I can't see her pulling it off at _all_.'

'She didn't like wearing it. I had to insist.'

'I bet it clashed with her hair something rotten.'

Laurel recalled Imoen in the midst of battle, a kaleidoscopic blur of pink, green and magic. 'I thought she looked really cute. It made me want to drape garlands around her neck.'

'Ugh…' Dust mimed being sick. 'I think she's totally wrong about you not fancying her, unless you're her mother.'

'I've forgotten much but I think I'd recall giving birth. Perhaps she sprang fully grown from my head while I slept.'

'Please don't tell me you've seen _that_ as well.'

'I read it in a book.'

'Uh huh? Either way, matching clothes? That's very couple-y.'

Laurel looked down at her armour, wondering if she had buried her real motivation. As her gaze drifted farther, she spotted something else. 'Did she give you those boots as well?'

'Huh? Oh yeah… and erm… I think you should tell me what's going on _here_.' Dust brandished a dagger inlaid with five brilliant star sapphires.

Laurel's eyes nearly bulged from her head. 'That's the Dagger of the Star! It's very powerful. I wouldn't show it to _anyone_.' She wanted to touch it but held back. 'It's… Imoen's personal weapon, in case anyone got too close. She… shouldn't have left that.' Her body ached with dread. 'It means she's letting go of something.'

'And here was me thinking she cared.'

'She does.'

'I'd like to believe that,' Dust said wearily. 'Think I was just a bug tub she poured all her grief into before she went back to start over… without you.' Laurel felt as though her insides had been kicked and torn out. 'Well, that was her plan. Don't know whether she meant it. She weren't all that consistent. Said that if you needed her, she'd keep her promise.'

'Okay,' said Laurel, catching her breath.

'Look, I think Imoen's a right daft bugger to kick an elven goddess out of bed and play these stupid head games… but she gave me a break and she's crazy about you, so go and sort her out before I lose my discretion and claim you for myself.'

Laurel was unsure whether to reproach or compliment Dust. 'That's rather brave.'

'I have to be. We don't all have the luxury of humping our best friend. If I don't ask, I don't get and I'd sooner lose all my teeth than spend every night alone.' Dust grinned. 'Farmer's wife. I used to nick her pies. When she twigged, she made this big show of putting them on the sill with her diddies out. She'd thought I was one of the lads but I was young and eager enough to do the job.' Her smile faded a little. 'Her husband caught me and figured I was rabid, so I er… bit his arm. He locked me in a cupboard for a week then pulled out my tooth with one of them hoists they use for birthing cattle. It was _foul_. After he let me go, his son beat me up, my family beat me up… his son beat me up _again_. Got fed up of it in the end.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Well, I still look in the mirror and cry… sometimes,' Dust quickly added, as though it would salvage her pride, 'but I'm getting there. At least I weren't tortured like you and Imoen.'

'I would not use our trials to dismiss yours.'

'Very smooth. I'm beginning to see why she loves you, apart from the scarred-elven-beauty-thing.'

'Didn't you want to see them before…?'

'I won't hold you to that unless Imoen promises not to "maze" me. I'm guessing that's mage-speak for something deeply unpleasant.'

'She wouldn't do that.'

'I'm sure you'd be worth it, either way.'

Laurel chuckled. She had never experienced the pleasure of flirtatious banter free of angst or subtext. 'Thank you.'

'You're welcome. Glad I could play a part in your little drama.'

Those familiar words made Laurel's skin crawl. 'I… I should go. Stay safe, Dust.'

'Huh?'

'Just stay safe.'

  


* * *

  


Laurel travelled to Candlekeep with some urgency, buying a horse for the journey and leaving Amn via Nashkel. At Beregost, she felt a strange obligation to complete the journey by foot. She sold the horse and walked the path where she had once fled. When she had first darkened this road, she had been a sheltered young girl with a simple bow and one spell fizzing around her brain. Her longsword had snapped when she'd accidentally buried it in a tree. Just as she thought her whole world had gone forever, Imoen had come running, a thousand excuses, condolences and promises tumbling from her lips. At that time, she had more resembled an innkeeper's daughter, who had snatched the ornamental bow from the wall, than a wily, sure-footed adventurer. Laurel was yet a slender girl with only hints of the musculature that would develop.

The road felt smaller than before. Even the sun appeared small as it bedded down. Laurel supposed that she could envelop it in her arms and hold it inside. The walls of Candlekeep were still impressive for such a small settlement but, after Saradush, Laurel could not take even the strongest fortification wholly seriously.

In her haste, Laurel had not brought a worthy tome but she had already planned her approach. With the clarity of experience, she saw the Keeper of the Portal was too infirm to present a serious threat. The magic that bolstered him and the gate was another matter but Laurel had enough uses of _spellstrike_ to breach anything short of a mythal. Once the Keeper delivered his customary speech, Laurel countered with one of her own. 'You wrongfully imprisoned me and put me through a gauntlet of stolen faces that nearly broke my mind. I could hurl comets through your wall but I am giving you a chance to right the balance!'

The Keeper sighed. 'Your words may be true but I would die before…' a voice called from beyond the gate, across the weave. 'Your toll has been paid. It would appear we both win today.'

Laurel felt ashamed. No matter how often she vowed restraint, she always seemed to cross a line when on a mission. 'Thank you, I… meant no harm, really.'

'We don't get to choose our roles. Welcome back, Laurel.'

Hurrying through the gardens to the central library, Laurel recognised everything but it was no longer home, even if she could walk the stones like she owned them. The statue of Alaundo watched with quiet satisfaction as she climbed the staircase to the dormitories. Laurel took care to avoid her own room lest it rouse her emotions and cloud her judgement prior to finding Imoen.

Finally, Laurel reached Imoen's cell. The door was ajar. There was no reason the room hadn't been reassigned but life had a way of orchestrating such things. Taking a breath to steady her nerves, Laurel peered inside.

The room was small and bare, a hollow waiting to be filled. It did not inspire any loss or nostalgia. Imoen sat on an unmade bed, wearing her old lilac dress. It was too big for her now. Combined with her boots and pink hair, she looked like a children's entertainer. It made Laurel want to throw her arms around her and smother her with kisses.

Imoen couldn't help but grin at the absurd tableau. 'You just had to walk in now, didn't ya? Thought I'd try it on but… ugh. You know I once looked _good_ in this? The fun lovin' girl next door. Now I'm an art-damaged, burnt-out madwoman.'

'And I'm a golem. I think we go well together.'

Imoen laughed. 'I'll tell everyone you're my creation.' She rested her cheek on her hand. 'You get in all right?'

'Was that your doing?'

'I snuck in through the catacombs, _still_ creepy, and _dimension door_ ed up. Found Tethtoril and bent his ear before someone dobbed me in.' Imoen's voice softened. 'I knew you'd come.'

'Always.'

'But would you have come if we hadn't fallen into bed? Say I just left Athkatla while you were minding the fort. Would you have chased me? Would you have noticed?'

'I…'

'It ain't your fault if you say "no"… you're not obliged to love me just 'cause I'm potty for you…'

'I do!'

Imoen trembled. She fought to maintain her composure. 'Oh, Laurie, I don't want to do this. I don't want to be all tangled and stagey but…' she smiled ruefully. 'This ain't fair. You're the one who's meant to be all conflicted.'

'I am but… I want to make this work.' Laurel knelt before Imoen and took her hands. 'I thought about what happened. I confronted my feelings. I even spoke with people.'

'And you _listened_?' Imoen chuckled kindly. 'Let me guess, Auntie Jaheira and my little apprentice?'

'They both want this to work.'

'Well, Dust had _better_ if she don't want itching powder in her drawers.' Imoen looked thoughtful. 'Jaheira though… I didn't see that coming.'

'Apparently, you're the closest thing to a sensible option.'

'Sensible?' Imoen growled. 'So I'm the nice, frumpy girl who hoards nuts for the winter?'

'I think that's probably me.'

'Nah, you'd give the nuts away and go on an epic quest to find the elemental plane of nuts.' Imoen ruffled Laurel's hair. 'Bet she's just glad I'm not a drow or a sirine.'

'Maybe,' Laurel squeezed to reaffirm her vow, 'but I told her about our differences and she knew ways to compromise. We can do this!'

'I know you want to please everyone but this ain't another quest. You can't just cut and burn through emotion 'til it feels like love.'

Laurel clutched her head as though it would burst. 'Then what do you want me to do, Imoen?' She stood and paced the length of the cell. 'Run away?'

Imoen bristled. 'You've ran away from yourself long enough.'

'I know!' Laurel threw up her hands. 'But why would you do the same?'

'I'm not…' Imoen looked around the room, as if the bare corners would structure her thoughts. 'When I lived here, everything seemed possible. Even if I were bored stiff, I could think "there's a whole world out there, full of fat merchants, pretty girls and hidden gold". I dreamt that we'd leave Candlekeep and that the road would draw us together. There'd be no chores or learning, just you, me and a squillion new memories.' Imoen spoke wistfully, as if the idea still brought her comfort. 'But then we did leave and the world got smaller… and crowded. There were all these people eating up the quiet time when we could get all personal. One by one, the things I dreamt about actually happened and I couldn't dream about them no more. Then… that night…' Imoen looked ten years older, pale eyes within dark lids and ashen skin, 'after that night, there was nothing left.' Laurel had no words. She sat on the bed and hugged Imoen, who flinched but yielded to the contact. 'I came back, hoping that I could dream again.' Imoen rested her hand above Laurel's heart. 'I didn't think it would work. I thought it would feel bitter, like I'd given up or failed at life by coming full circle… but it was simple, easy problems, easy answers, like one and one is two or pinching gold from a chanter. I even thought about you without crying… but then you walked through the door and it…' Imoen sobbed.

'Do you… want me to go?' said Laurel.

'It hurts when you go. It hurts when you're here. Everything just hurts.' Imoen buried her face in Laurel's armour. 'What a mess… what a stupid mess.'

'I know,' Laurel tried to convey understanding as she stroked Imoen's back and hair. 'It's like… loving someone because they hate you and wanting them to love you but _still_ hate you and…'

Imoen pulled back and stared. 'You… are you talking about Viconia?'

'I…' Laurel gulped, convinced she had made a mistake, 'it's all in the past, I don't…'

Imoen wiped her eyes and nose. 'I can't believe it.' There was quiet wonder in her voice. 'You… you said it. You finally said it. Everyone knew but…' Imoen shook her head. 'Thank you… thank you so much.'

'I don't understand. Why would you want to hear that? Why would you want to hear it _now_?'

'I thought that all my dreams had come and gone but… I was wrong.' Imoen took Laurel's hands. 'Do you still have feelings for her?'

'I…' Laurel was completely disarmed. She had no idea where the conversation was headed or how to respond but something about Imoen's gentle, insistent touches brought out the words. 'I've let go but I still think of her from time to time. I guess an old flame never dies.'

'Can't say I blame ya. She is gorgeous if you ignore that snarly face and what comes out of it.'

Laurel felt too ashamed to corroborate Viconia's physical beauty. 'She drives people away. The last time we spoke, I got a bit emotional and said that when the world was against her, I would be on her side. She was quite gracious and we parted as friends… or as close as she would allow.'

'You always were the only person in the room to her. I remember when you led the party and she just watched with this blend of annoyance and admiration. It made me realise that you had a hook in her… and as long as it was there, she'd never truly be lost.' Imoen brushed Laurel's cheek. 'I spent as much time watching that drow as you did. You made your mark on the world but nothing reflected your kindness, your hope and your pretty, messed-up head as much as Vicky, a mean ol' grump who didn't deserve an ounce of love… but you gave it to her anyway and bound her to something she couldn't understand or resist.'

'I was such a child around her. It must have been painful to watch, especially if you…'

'Nah…' Imoen played with Laurel's ear, 'you're cute when you're a smitten kitten. I had a bit of a cry when no one was about but what _really_ hurt was that you couldn't talk to me.' With a contented sigh, Imoen put her head on Laurel's shoulder, as though they were watching the sunset together. 'That was my last dream. To sit with a bottle of wine, a warm fire, and talk with you about women.'

'You dreamt about giving up?'

'If I couldn't have your heart then… I could have the secret part, the juicy thoughts that you'd have to hide from your squeeze, the little kinks and resentments,' Imoen closed her eyes. 'and in those moments when you'd let down your guard, I'd be closer to you than anyone.'

Laurel felt her chest tighten. 'You… you already are.'

'I don't know. Is anyone close to you? They're trapped in your orbit… but it's not quite the same.'

'How… how could I answer that?' Laurel sniffed. Despair welled in her eyes.

'You can't…'

Laurel raised Imoen's chin and pecked her on the lips, retreating like a frightened bird. 'Please… I _can_ love you, Imoen… just let me.' Laurel gulped as a tear escaped down her cheek. 'Please, the more I think of you, the more I see you, the more beautiful…'

Imoen closed the distance and forcefully kissed Laurel. A full stop. 'Laurel…' Imoen held Laurel's face and ran her thumb across her lips. 'I want you but it's not enough… I want to _know_ you. I want to go back and see everything through your eyes, your heart, your… mouth.' Intoxicated by their closeness, Imoen bit Laurel's lips with growing sensuality. 'The story you never told… the feelings unspoken.'

Laurel was paralysed before Imoen's assault. 'But what if they're wrong? What if the story is wrong and my feelings are wrong and all I do is hurt you?'

'It doesn't matter.' Imoen pressed her forehead to Laurel's. 'Hurt me. Hurt me again and again. Just… let me in.'

Laurel choked. She could not speak. She could not breathe. Even the air in her lungs felt dangerous, as though its smell and taste would divert the course of her life. Her mind grew dark and heavy. The pressure rose. It begged for release. It begged and the light faded and faded and…

  


* * *

  


_Imoen held on to the mage's arm as he presented her new home. He mentioned a lot of rules and history that bored her senseless. She would spot curious things, like cows and colourful robes, and interrupt him only to be shushed or told her question had been answered. As she began to despair of the endless parade of books and old men, Imoen spied something that stopped her heart, a young elven girl with sun-coloured hair in a small green dress._

_At first, all Imoen could do was stare at the girl's fair, slender legs and bare feet. They were so bright and perfect that Imoen could hardly believe that they were real, that they were living things to be touched and held. Giddy as her world expanded with beautiful possibility, she lifted her head and met the girl's eyes, misty grey eyes so plain and opaque, so simple and profound, giving Imoen their full attention. Below a finely-drawn nose with the tiniest upturn at the very end, the girl's mouth was curled in a shy, crooked smile. Imoen found it impossible not to smile back. The happiness was overwhelming. It turned somersaults in her belly and flooded her limbs. For a heavenly moment, Imoen and the girl just stared and smiled, until a man in a green robe led the girl away. Imoen's feet left the ground as she waved energetically and the girl awkwardly returned the gesture until they lost sight of each other._

_The mage nearly fell over as Imoen tugged on his arm, disturbing all of Candlekeep with her loud demands for the girl's name. After insisting that Imoen control herself, the mage revealed that the girl was named Laurel and that she lived in the same wing. Having got her wish, Imoen whooped loudly and sprinted away, only to be zapped in place by a_ hold person _spell. Cowed but unrepentant, Imoen grumbled until the mage was suitably distracted by some dull conversation about gods. She took her chance._

_Imoen whisked up the stairs, wondering what her new friend would be like… quiet and well-behaved, if her hesitant smile and wave were any sign. Laurel must have been so very lonely in Candlekeep. She needed an Imoen, a girl her own age to show her a good time. Finding the right door, Imoen resisted the temptation to just burst in and thumped so hard that a reader on the next floor dropped a pile of books in fright._

_'He… hello?' said Laurel. Imoen tingled. That voice! So breathy and musical that she could touch it, play it, even taste it._

_'Heya! It's me, Imoen!'_

_The door opened…_


End file.
